feliz cumple de lispa

This is a video my friend Pablo did for his mom's birthday. It teeters between sweet, creepy, weird and silly. It's wonderful.

A friend sent me a link to this site that gives you your past life. It's silly, but fun.

Your past life diagnosis:
I don't know how you feel about it, but you were female in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern West Australia around the year 1375. Your profession was that of a sailor or shoemaker.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:Inquisitive, inventive, you liked to get to the very bottom of things and to rummage in books. Talent for drama, natural born actor.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:There is an invisible connection between the material and the spiritual world. Your lesson is to search, find and use this magical bridge.

Pictures, Pictures, Pictures......Here are some photos of my lovely classmates. Oh goodness how I love them....

At the top and going to the left: Natali (my beautiful flatmate, que linda!), Karim displaying the lispa/Naropa placard, Rebecca at Christmas!, uhm..that one with the monocle is me, Diogo and Carrie, Pablo and Baerbel (rebecca is in the background).

Much more to come. Love.

I Am Waiting
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier

and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

Her Kind
by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.



The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator
by Anne Sexton

The end of the affair is always death.
She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute’s speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

She took you the way a woman takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today’s paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

This last week was a little raw for me. I don't know if it was due to hormones, lack of sleep or just because of the moon. But I was feeling really closed. I was emotionally roller coastering and not really paying much attention to the quiet part of my personality. I was externally striving all week instead of taking stock with my personal energy, space, and needs. This morning I woke and meditated. Then I went downstairs and cooked a proper healthy and delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs with onions, garlic, red pepper, and broccoli. Simply chopping vegetable, putting oil in the pan felt like just what my mind needed. My incestant thoughts about pointless information quieted and I focused for the first time in a week. Watching the onion grow soft, the garlic brown, and then I put the scrambled eggs into the pan and watched it turn white and yellow and then seep into the broccoli and cover all of the vegetables until the egg gets solid and the whole mixture became a beautiful garden scramble. When I was done I cut up a Mango, which has become one of my favorite activities. I love slicing the peel of and eating the mango meat off of the peel. Then when I have cut the skin off, I thoroughly enjoy slicing the oval mango into weird obblong slices. I allow my hands to drip with mango juice and lick it off my fingers. After eating off the seed, I then slurp the big chunks into my mouth. The flavor of mango is delicious.

So, now that cooking has righted my mind and put me back on a more open track. The sun is shining today in London and you can see blue sky for the first time in a week or so. It's going to be a good day, a good month, and a good rest of the year.
I can feel it.

Much Love.

Cancer Horoscope for week of January 11, 2007
If you're not rejected or refused at least once in early 2007, you're probably not trying hard enough. Life is dying to teach you a thing or two about not giving up no matter what. The gods of success won't hand you your purple heart, let alone your intelligence upgrade, until you prove that you can fight ferociously for your dreams even when you're a bit puzzled. Here's a formula that will serve you well during your heroic (but amusing!) ordeal: Find a way to coordinate your spiritual longing with your creative rage. Here's another tip: Learn to identify and capitalize on the fertile chaos that's all mixed up with the plain old ordinary chaos.

Cancer Horoscope for week of January 4, 2007

I predict that you won't punch out Paris Hilton in a bar in 2007. Nor will you buy your own Lear jet, train to be a Shaolin Kung Fu monk, or get a clip-on nose ring. Leather chaps? I bet you won't wear them even once, nor will you sneak into your old high school at night and spray-paint obscenities on the walls. In the coming year, you might, on the other hand, get a tattoo of the glyph for infinity. You may obtain a ceremonial sword and use it in a ritual to symbolically cut away a certain dead-end fantasy you've been clinging to even though it's no damn good for you. You could also go on a quest to satisfy your oldest curiosity, and learn a lot about how to control your emotions without repressing them.

Happy New Years

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! 2007!

I had a crazy new year night. It started at a classmates house and then we got on the tube to go to Central London to watch fireworks as the year turned, but the tube was slow so the year turned while we were riding the tube. But that is okay because in our underground car there were a bunch of Polish people on their way to Central London as well. They were singing and dancing and so we joined in! It was a blast. Then when we got to central london the streets were packed. And I mean really packed, shoulder to shoulder, and people were climbing on to of phone booths and screaming happy new year! Everyone was happy, there was no violence or danger. So, I of course got up on a phone booth as well, so did my friends Ruben and Jonas. Amazing view....sadly no video or photos, but then we decided to go towards the river! So we made our way down to the river, there were people everywhere and police on horses. I think i may have peed in the street (this is a right of passage in London, you must pee in the streets at least once). Finally we all got home and it was a good night.

Here is some video of the earlier parts of the evening because I forgot about my camera the drunker I got. Much Love!!!